The Thief and the Prince – Chapter 2: Farewell, Paevia

Farewell, Paevia

Dawn crept slowly over the kingdom of Althera, painting the sky in faint gold and silver, but the light could not soften what the land had become. Smoke still rose from the lower districts, and the cold wind carried the smell of ashes.

Far from the palace walls, hidden deep within the forest, two figures walked side by side—one tall, cloaked, regal even in ruin… and one small, quick, and sharp-eyed.

Prince Kael

and

Arin the Thief.

They had escaped, but not safely. Every sound in the forest—the snap of a branch, the distant call of a crow—felt like a warning.

“We can’t stay near the capital,” Arin said, tightening the straps on his worn bag. “Varek’s soldiers will search every trail.”

Kael nodded, though his mind was elsewhere.

He was thinking of Paevia—the city where he grew up, the heart of Althera.

His mother’s gardens.

The bustling markets.

The temple bells at sunrise.

His father’s voice echoing through the throne hall.

All of it… now in enemy hands.

Arin noticed his silence. “You miss it.”

“I miss what it used to be,” Kael replied. “Paevia wasn’t perfect, but it was home.”

“You’ll get it back,” Arin said confidently.

Kael looked at him, surprised by the certainty in the thief’s tone. “You speak as if rebellion is easy.”

Arin shrugged. “It’s not. But you’re not alone anymore.”

For a moment, Kael wondered how a boy who had grown up in poverty, hunted by guards, could stand with such unshakable spirit.

Arin wasn’t just a thief.

He was hope with a heartbeat.

They continued deeper into the forest until they reached an abandoned outpost—an old wooden cabin, half-collapsed, hidden under thick vines.

Arin pushed the door open. “Welcome to the safest unsafe place you'll ever see.”

Kael stepped inside. The room smelled of damp wood and old memories.

A single table.

A broken lantern.

Maps scattered across the floor.

“Who stayed here before?” Kael asked.

Arin walked to the back wall where scratch marks had been carved. “Rebels. Long before us. The king your uncle betrayed—he tried to crush every uprising that ever existed.”

Kael traced the carvings with his fingers: initials, dates, symbols of hope.

All forgotten.

“Let’s rest for a bit,” Arin said. “Then we move.”

Kael lay on the floor, exhaustion pulling at his bones. Arin sat near the doorway, keeping watch like a loyal guard dog—alert, protective, unnaturally responsible for someone who lived by stealing apples and escaping guards for fun.

Hours passed.

When Kael finally woke, the sun was lower, and Arin was packing supplies.

“Time to go,” Arin said softly. “We need to reach the river before night.”

Kael stood, pulled his cloak around himself, and followed him outside.

The forest opened to a hilltop overlooking the kingdom.

From there, Kael saw Paevia—the city he grew up in—glimmering faintly in the sunset. Smoke curled from rooftops. Soldiers patrolled the streets like black insects.

His heart tightened.

“This is goodbye,” Kael whispered.

Arin slowed beside him. “Goodbye for now. You’ll come back.”

Kael clenched his fists. “Not as a fugitive. Not in shadows. I’ll return as the rightful heir.”

Arin grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Kael took one last look at Paevia—the glowing towers, the river cutting through the city like a silver vein, the distant temple fires flickering like memories.

He whispered a promise under his breath:

“I will reclaim you.

I will free you.”

Then he turned away.

Arin walked ahead, hands in pockets, voice soft but confident.

“Come on, Your Highness. The rebellion won’t start itself.”

As they disappeared into the thick forest path, the sun slipped below the horizon…

And Althera lost its prince—

only for a time.

A storm of destiny was coming.

And the first step had just begun.